Irresponsibly Good
by ZeWaz
Summary: Ira always seems to be saving people without setting out to. With a long history of disappointing her parents, she has finally made a turnaround; That is, until a band of female thugs note her talent, and Ira is suddenly catapulted into a world where she struggles to meet the expectations of both good, evil, and something... or someone... in between. T language, etc. Alex/OC
1. Chapter 1

**Hallo, this is my first story on this website and… uh, I apologize in advance if it sucks, but I had a bit of fun writing this chapter… Clockwork Orange doesn't belong to me… yeah.**

**Enjoy!**

She caught a flash of the last retreating leather-clad bugger. Webs of blood dripping down her body, not entirely her own blood, had stained her clothes. Tired green eyes lazily shifted towards the would-be victim, who was currently in a sobbing heap on the muddy, wet tiles of the street. She sighed.

"Calm yourself, now." She soothed, hastily rubbing fluids from her palms before extending a hand to rub the other girl's shoulder. Though she had meant to be gentle, nothing about her manner even faintly resembled the word. Her tone cracked and retreated quickly into a low growl with her phrasing, and her touch was papery and rough save a few wet spots that she had failed to remove. The girl, nonetheless, seemed to appreciate the gesture and calmed as she was told.

Ira muttered inaudibly to her self as the girl sniffled. These boys, these 'malchicks' were becoming really, really too much to handle. Her parents already detested her own late-night crusades as it was, and though she admittedly never actually came out with the notion to 'rescue' people, it seemed to be the only thing she was doing lately. Hell, if she wasn't being occupied or suckered into rescuing other wretches, she was busy rescuing _herself_. She winced at last Saturday's near-death experience, idly rubbing a thumb over her switchblade both in thanksgiving for the save and in an instinctual act of security.

"M-M-mm…Miss…" the poor thing croaked, "Th-thank… Thanks…" Her eyes were swollen and red with tears as she wailed yet again. So broken up, Ira mused privately, you would have thought that she had arrived too late, or something- Ira rolled her head back and gave a highly agitated-sounding sigh.

"Well, get on home then. It's unlikely you'll be visited by a second angel of mercy if you're caught again, so please," She creased an eyebrow to communicate the sincerity of her message to the young woman, "if you may, RUN, don't walk."

The girl didn't need her to say it twice. She was up in a split second and took to the now better-lit streets like a shot, hair flying and heels clicking. Ira spun on her heel and grudgingly decided to return home after a now ruined evening.

_To match all the others I've been having. _She thought bitterly.

She wasn't entirely sure why she even bothered stopping these people anymore. She was a scarecrow in a swarm of evil, greedy little bastards who were more numerous in their flocks in recent times but no less evolved. A smile tugged at the last few words; Tim and Shelley would have been chuckling along with her if they didn't have the luxury of _living _in their own establishment. Alas, Ira was only an employee. Though the two of them always treated her like family, and even invited her to stay the night, Ira had parents to return to.

She would most likely be reprimanded the moment she walked in through the door, of course. Life had been strange to her; One moment she's a pacifist, and the next she suddenly cares to save strangers with a damn blade she swiped- no, ACCEPTED, from a classmate only a week ago. A present in return for loyalty.

Well shit, she hadn't gotten back to her on that, had she? Ira rubbed her elbows from the cold as she struggled to recollect her last meeting with Ludmilla. That wasn't her real name, everyone knew that, but she nor anyone else ever seemed to catch her real one. A solid fact about Ludmilla was that she and her band of vicious ladies liked to go on romps round the more questionable parts of town (which unfortunately was everywhere, as far as Ira was concerned) committing petty crimes and experimenting with all the latest laced drinks. She had even invited Ira to accompany her and her 'droogs' to that odd-ball hangout at the Korova Milkbar, but she had politely refused. Before she was under Tim's employment, she had taken the advice from a particularly shady source to try for some employment there; no sooner had she walked in did she turn around and walk right back out. Between the bizarre décor and seedy looking, almost rabid creatures that lurked and lounged within like wild beasts on coffee break, she figured it might not be the safest place to work.

She sighed for the umpteenth time that night. How did she find herself like this? She had finally managed to be a 'good' girl. No, she hadn't been running around doing God-knows-what like her more troubled classmates, but she had been undeniably irresponsible. She had carelessly worried her parents on more than one occasion, she cried over the silliest things and turned a blind eye when those silly things concerned others, and of course she hadn't made the greatest effort in school, which would be enough to make the average parent unhappy. She had finally started over in a new setting, became a different person, tried to be more responsible; now here she was accepting a knife, obtained by the gift-er by unknown means to the gift-ee. A gift-er who was in, no, ran a band of female ruffians. Ludmilla had seen her fight before, she gathered, or maybe she just saw that… kind… brand of violent, violent thing in her. She admitted to playing strong and silent, but God help her if she actually laid a finger on anyone outside of defensive means. She was so incredibly frustrated.

A bong of a distant clock drew her back to her current irresponsibility, albeit brought on by a form of responsibility (had the girl made it home?) but that did little to comfort her. Her explanation would fall on deaf ears. Hopefully, she would at least be able to get it over with the minute she stepped over the threshold instead of a lengthy morning confrontation.

The only sound Ira heard as she huffed and braved the streets in her work clothes was the petite clicks of her heels, shoulders flopping back and forth and hair whipping all the way.

_Mum will understand. Mum will understand. _She lied to herself, _Mum will-_

A sharp cough and a groan broke her running streak as her attention snapped to a particularly sinister looking alley. A black moving form lay there unmoving, at least at a distance. She moved to continue. No sooner had she jogged a few steps, her conscience coaxed her (again) into checking up on whatever creature lay moaning for help in the alley. She muttered a streak of obscenities. To hell with her little 'hobby,' people had to save themselves every now and then, didn't they?

Her immediate apprehension dulled as she inched closer to the person lying on the puddle riddled ground. Telling by size, they were definitely male. A veined hand crept sluggishly towards her foot, revealing scratches and cuts and bruises on every inch as the rest of his body emerged from the darkness cast on him by nearby trash cans. She hovered over him uncertainly, scanning over his features. A messy dark brown head of hair fell face first into a puddle, startling her enough to make her take a step back. She could hear a low growl as she saw him lift his head and bring a hand clasping a hat (accented by a set of peculiar green goggles, she noted) to his face. He rubbed the fabric against his face in motion that may have been rough if he hadn't been so weakened.

He suddenly snapped his attention to Ira, causing her to flinch at a pair of wild eyes that glared upwards at her from underneath an unkempt mane. She lamely held up both hands to prove her innocent of violent thoughts. The man was indeed a boy, and under closer inspection, namely the observance of the manner in which he spit at the ground for enacting gravity, she recognized him as one of the troubled hooligans of the city. What was his name? She recognized his way of dress, but no name came to mind- no wait- Billy Bob? Bill?

"Billy… uhm… boy?" She thought aloud. The wounded animal grimaced for some unclear reason, perhaps her hesitation displeased him. Either way, she was over her initial confusion and thought to herself none too kindly that perhaps she should leave him here. Just run- no, calmly walk away- Leave him to…

"Let's get you to a hospital, then." She heard her self say. She should have known she couldn't leave him lying there, it was probably his own damn fault anyway, she should think of how many lives she could possibly be saving by leaving this filth to die. Even more so, she should think about her parents. Her Mum would be especially furious.

Nevertheless, she made a move to lift 'Billy Boy' by the arm, all scorning and opposed voices within her giving up the argument. He snarled and caused her to jump back, swatting at her when she reattempted to assist him.

"Sodding devotchka…" he growled, lowering his gaze. He tried to stand and failed miserably as he collapsed against the brick wall of the alley. Ira shrugged and turned to go home, quietly thankful that he was resistant. His groans grew dimmer as the distance between them increased until she heard a pause, and then a fairly loud and hoarse "WAIT."

She almost cried. So close.

"Not the hospital." He said softly. He nearly sounded like he was pleading, but then added more firmly, "My place."

She turned to him slothfully and cocked an eyebrow. "You're in no position to be dictating anything."

His eyes widened in sync with his mouth at her words. After a few short moments of disbelief, he growled "You-you fucking...!"

"It's truly awful to hear you drop that lovely teen speak of yours." She interrupted with a short burst of bravery. The feeling was akin to taunting a tiger who had its paw caught in a trap, "You turned down my assistance. I won't trouble you any further."

She nodded curtly and turned to leave. An amused grin broke in the darkness as she turned away, and a sinister set of blue glazzies shifted its attention to the unfortunate 'gentleman.'

She cringed at the sudden sound of kicks and moans, and quickened her pace. Her explanation for her mum was growing a sentence longer with each step she took.

**Well, you made it. Or maybe you skipped to the end because it was so boring. Who knows, it might get better. **

**Er, I wasn't entirely sure if Billy Boy subscribed to Nadstat, but as you can see… I kind of made him speak Nadstat. I apologize if he doesn't, but from his rather limited dialogue in the movie and my less plentiful knowledge of the book it was something of a confusing decision.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Oh geez, here comes the nadstat. Hopefully it's not too unbearably bad, but I'll try to improve regardless.**

** demonbarber14, I certainly intend to make Ira a 'tough' character, but hopefully realistically so; I'm glad you find her interesting, however!**

**And Miroheen, This was one of those times where I got tired of waiting and made one myself; I hope I can live up to your expectations and not let you down too quickly. XD**

**wellllll here we go!**

The meeting with her mother had gone just about the way she expected it. Glares, tongue-lashings, and disappointed sweeps of the head in directions concealed to her vision, these were the staples of the usual spat between Ira and her mother. Or at least, if that was what you wanted to call them- More often than not, she would simply adopt a behavior of 'don't speak unless spoken to,' mumbling back only when a cool demand was uttered towards her between long twisting lectures.

This was not to say that she didn't fully accept the verbal punishment. Coming home at this hour, and fairly cut up and bruised, no less, was a gigantic offense and basis for discipline. However, she often found herself wishing that the argument could end as soon as possible and allow her to immediately set to work redeeming herself. She was thoroughly tired of disappointing everyone, but such redemptions were far and few on her part. It was a feeling comparable to when one is busily planting fragile foxglove seeds, only to have some greedy rodent dig them up and leave you with no real explanation to give those who were so eagerly expecting them.

"I thought I told you, Ira, nine o'clock and no later than that- It's as if you're consciously trying to give me a heart attack! I almost called the police! Do you even know what time it is?!" She yipped, "Shall I lend you your father's watch?"

Ira stared into her blankly through her dark tufts, fighting off an inner voice. _They were going to soil her! _It screamed, _Leave her for dead! I thought I was raised to intervene when faced with things like that. _

"Eleven-Thirty," she sighed finally.

Now, her mother was a reasonable woman, and also not stupid. Her rigid expression relaxed upon seeing the utter resignation in her daughter's eyes, but only a smidge, retaining an expectant and slightly confrontational edge.

"Look Mum, I'm sorry. " She pleaded, breaking her previous monotone, "I really am. But…"

She was silenced with a stare that could laser ice. The pepper-haired woman paused, drew in a great deal of air, and released it in one hot breath, eyes never leaving her daughter.

"Just go and get yourself to bed." She ordered, waving her hand dismissively. Ira edged cautiously towards the hall and only froze when she added sternly, "This will not happen again."

The girl was thankful to get away with that much and did not bother to affirm or agree with this last bit. She rushed hurriedly into the hall and out of the scrutinizing gaze of her parent.

Her room was terribly plain looking to the average person, rescued only by the presence of some bunting. Under closer inspection, a small artificial Christmas tree lit one corner. She had refused to put it away for ages much to the displeasure (and confusion) of her parents.

She heaved a sigh and plopped onto the bed. The coarse fabric of her work uniform came up and over her arms, only to be interrupted with a horrible stabbing sensation, causing her to clutch her side and roll painfully off of the bed's edge. Her ears briefly caught the sound of the object hitting the floor with a frantic clacking noise.

"Bloody hell!" She murmured exasperatedly, immediately scanning the floor to see where exactly the object had clattered off to. Her expression darkened considerably upon realizing that it had been Ludmilla's switchblade.

She quickly snatched it in her slender fingers only to hurl it at the wall again.

Frustrated and tired out of her mind, it wasn't long before she slid down and fell asleep directly on the floor.

…

A malevolent creature plodded home, smirking and still quite giddy about the night's success. Street lamps cast over him in lazy orange stripes as he passed through the nightscape of the city, bowler hat tipped close to his nose, obscuring all features except for his piercing blue eyes. If one had been unfortunate enough to be close, but smart enough to hide, they might have been able to see the small reddish specks adorning his all white attire. Yes, it had been a _horrorshow_ night indeed; and the ending was somewhat humorous and quite unprecedented.

The devotchka seemed like a creature in her own right, with pin straight hair just above her shoulders and peculiar wavy tufts above her eyes that seemed like they didn't really belong there at all. For a moment, he thought he was going to be quite bolnoy if she really did take that steaming piece of cal to the hospital, and maybe even have to give her a surprise. He wasn't entirely sure if he had really viddied such a veshch like that in all his jeezny.

_But it was lovely to see that bolshy sod get what was coming to him._ He looked down at his boots, still shining with unidentified fluids, and grinned, _And little more of what he deserved._

Whistling what would be an otherwise harmless tune, his mind wandered to veshches of far more pressing importance as he disappeared into the shadows of the apartment building.

…

The next day offered little refuge from the night's events. The school buzzed faintly with the latest gossip, how Ira had come in with cuts and scratches all over her body. Maybe it was her father, or maybe her mother, or perhaps… and this was the one that bothered her most… perhaps she had finally accepted the offer from Ludmilla and her lot, resulting in some sort of twisted initiation.

Regardless, things quieted and life continued as usual. Drab surroundings, coupled with nosey teenagers. She could only continue in her usual resigned manner and ignore those who had no personal ties with her.

Yes, things started going a little more smoothly.

That was until she crossed paths with the sly she-devil and her cronies.

"Ira!"

Her walking picked up dramatically.

The obnoxious blonde cut in front of her, blocking the way. The tufted teen sighed as Ludmilla caught her shoulder in a friendly gesture usually given when someone was going to get their arse handed to them. However, she seemed genuinely pleased to see Ira, and doubly pleased upon examining the bits of damage on her cheek.

"Ho Ho, so you were in a good old drat again, eh?" Ludmilla chuckled loudly, "It must have been horrorshow, from the looks of ya!"

"Indeed." Ira breathed, "_Horrorshow."_

"I knew it," the blonde waggled her finger, "I knew you had it in you. So if you're not particularly busy this nochy-"

"I have work, Ludmilla." She responded curtly, "REAL work. Tim and Shelley need-"

"Oh come on, it'll be a great raz. It's not…" the young gang girl thought for a moment, choosing her words carefully. She then proceeded to squeeze the words out in an almost painful fashion, "It's not _all _about the bitv- I mean, fights. Besides, you can't possibly be the only employee they've got. The girls will get along with you real dobby, right girls?"

Looking over her shoulder, Ira could see two other girls who had been standing idly up until this point and were now nodding their heads with little interest in Ira, if any at all. She drew her attention back to Ludmilla.

"No." she affirmed. She started to continue past the lot of them when she caught a particularly eerie smile forming on Ludmilla's face.

"I messeled as much. I didn't want to bring this up, Ira, but…" She grinned widely, "I heard that there was some very, very merzky lubbilubbing last nochy between you and Billy Boy. It might break your em's poor heart, should I govoreet to her about it."

Confusion briefly rippled across Ira's face, taking in the ridiculous sound of the nadstat and trying to wrench some meaning out of it. "What on earth is that supposed to mea…"

All it took was one vulgar hand gesture from the other two girls to make her understand. Her face flushed deep crimson and assumed a downright indignant disposition.

"You can tell her whatever you like. She'd never have any reason to believe the likes of you." She almost shouted, "Whatever any of those low life gits told you about me is a complete lie, anyhow, and I will absolutely not-!"

"Oh, she wouldn't?" Ludmilla retorted, "Malenky Ira… You have a whole bunch of secrets. You're gloopy to have let anyone know, and far gloopier to think I wouldn't use them. Or perhaps, you'd like me to share with more than just your em?"

Secrets? Ooohhh… That damn ex of hers.

The threat lingered in the air, even catching the interest of the two other girls and some onlookers.

"What the hell do you want…" she growled back finally, a strong note of defeat in her voice.

"Just one nochy, that's all." The victor grinned sweetly. She strode closer, until they were only about an inch apart, "Be at the corner tonight. You know which one."

With that, the blonde strode away with her attendants in tow.

And Ira was left wondering how this ever happened.

**Okay okay, I promise something more exciting will happen next chapter. And Alex will be written a little better. But, we'll tackle one thing at a time, eh?**


	3. Chapter 3

**Gah. I'm so sorry for the ungodly long time it took to update. Hopefully it won't take as long for the next one. _ **

The evening was crisp and cool with small orphan breezes blowing about the streets. Ira clutched the insides of her jacket, trying desperately to keep warm, whilst trying to keep her cool.

_The broad was referring to this corner, right? _She thought with chattering teeth, _Ah, well. Maybe if I'm lucky she won't sho-_

"I knew you'd viddy things my way, Ira. Let's itty on, then." The blonde appeared from the darkness suddenly and casually motioned for Ira to follow her and the two other girls. She was the same person on the outside; However, she noticed with a fleeting bit of uncertainty, Ludmilla was lacking in the charm and friendliness she had so openly displayed earlier.

It was only when the threat from earlier resurfaced that she felt a new burst of motivation to get the night over with. She hurried to catch up with the three of them, almost hearing her skinny legs cracking in an effort to un-thaw.

It hadn't been easy to lie to her parents, especially her mother. It had been even less easy to lie to Tim and Shelley. While she had told her mother that a fellow employee had taken ill and that she would be needed for the Friday night shift, she had fibbed that she was recovering from a bad school lunch to Tim. Upon hearing this, Shelley had even offered her world-famous (or at least, in Ira's opinion it should have been) 'remedy tea.' The guilt was quite great, but Ira's desire to alleviate the leverage Ludmilla had over her was greater.

"So, ah," She tried almost a little too hard, "Where might we be… headed off to?"

"Here."

Looking around to see where exactly she was referring to, she was a bit perturbed to see that they were only surrounded by bare alley, and she only turned around in time to see a stray package flying to hit her square in the face.

She cursed a stream, clutching her features in agony, "What the Blo-!"

Ludmilla tapped a foot rapidly, drawing Ira's attention to the pack that lay on the ground. Whatever the hell it was… could have been a sack of rocks, for all she knew. Nothing extraordinary about it spare some unusual twining and the obvious indent it had from hitting her face.

She stared at it for a good few seconds, mulling over the possibilities, until she heard an irritated sigh.

"If you're waiting around for it to jump up an' give you a good shlaga on the nose, we could be here a Bog-awful long raz."

"Well what the hell is it, for God's sake? Why couldn't you have just handed me the damned thing?"

All three sets of eyes before her twinkled, each with a sly matching grin.

"Open it and see, Ira-dear." One hissed, the mocking edge to her voice quite obvious.

Ludmilla only smiled.

Ira bent down slowly and picked it up, not nearly as heavy as it had seemed. She was set to undo the twining but realized she was having some difficulty; and further, she realized, the only way to undo it would be to-

_Christ._

She reached into her back pocket, fingers grasping the switch blade, and held it up to her face. At this point the girls tittered quietly and Ludmilla's smile deepened with a sort of infantile excitement as she swiftly sliced the binding. Tucking the blade carefully into its place again, she proceeded to shred the thick paper to reveal the contents.

Black… more black… and then a shine.

She gazed at them in puzzlement. She had withdrawn a pair of black pants, black shirt… black… mask.

She understood now. She hadn't paid much mind before, but looking at the three girls she realized that it was the exact set of clothing that they shared, minus the masks; but looking more closely, Ira could see the shining black material peeking from their collars. She looked into Ludmilla's eyes closely and said the only word that came to mind.

"No." She spat.

"See, Ira, you came here. You accepted. You met me and the girls, the right corner and all. You can't possibly be gloopy enough _not_ to know what I'd been govoreeting about." Ludmilla said, retaining her grin, "'No' is no longer an option for you."

"So put it on, already, my lips are dry as hell! Can't this be hurried up, Lud?" The particularly nasty one snapped.

A tense silence followed. Girl staring down girl. One with a smug smirk, one with daggers in her eyes, and all with highly expectant looks… the smirk faded as the seconds ticked on, however.

"It can." She finally muttered back, her expression souring slightly as she recognized Ira's intent to be stubborn.

A string of alarm bells went off in the girl's head as she saw all three of them fumble in their pockets for something that wasn't too hard to guess. She couldn't take them on; she realized with a sense of helplessness (that she loathed, oh how she loathed it) that it was either put the stupid things on or miss work at Tim and Shelley's _permanently._

"Oh, I'll put the bleeding things on…_they're all stark raving mad._" She hissed, hastily stuffing her own pant legs into the new, alien pair. She removed her skimpy coat and gasped from the sudden cold, pulling the polyester-like material over her head in a flash.

A few rustles and irritated grunts passed as the three girls stood patiently. Ira spun to face them in a huff, now wearing the same clothes as them, but looking far less put together by comparison.

"Alright, now what?" Her eyes gleamed under the black mask expectantly, making little to no effort to hide their anger.

"We don't plan much. Surely you can handle one little gooly?" Ludmilla drawled, a feigned innocent edge to her voice.

For some odd reason, the teenspeak was the aspect of her predicament that she looked forward to the very least; Not the prospect of violence, not being submissive, not even having to hang with these girls, but the slang. How such a way of speaking came about never ceased to boggle her.

"I'm afraid I don't follow." She said quite bluntly.

"Oh, excuse me. It's a 'stroll.'" The blonde rolled her eyes, turning on her heel. The others turned as well, throwing malicious glances towards Ira's direction every so often as she tried to keep up.

As they walked, she couldn't help noticing that they were going through an incredibly unfamiliar labyrinth of alleyways. She'd cringe occasionally at the sight and sounds of other 'troubled' youth, lounging around and cooing vulgarities at the girls as they made their way through. She had also noticed that, despite all this, Ludmilla maintained a stony exterior while the two girls that flanked her would growl and snap like dogs. It almost felt like the way things used to be…

_No. It was never like this._ She shook her head absentmindedly at the thought, _I would have never imagined this. Being coerced into something so juvenile… yet…_

Yet so dangerous. A slight collision into the back of the shorter of the two girls made her realize that they had stopped. She grimaced heavily when she realized where.

_Well, can't say I shouldn't have foreseen this._

"I imagine we'll be going in there?" She asked, struggling to keep an even tone. Korova, however briefly she had been there to seek work, had made a lasting impression on Ira. And it wasn't a good one. Although, she had been oddly disappointed at the absence of any Slavic or eastern European accents, as the name had initially led her to believe there would be.

"Oh, just a little while. We won't keep little Ira out of bed too long, but it'll be just enough to send her home happy." The blonde didn't bother turning to her, but she could distinctly hear her smile as she spoke, "Besides, they don't take kindly to serving us damas."

"Or any damas, really." Another girl reaffirmed.

"How long we stay doesn't matter as long as we get some bleedin' drinks!" The other complained, "Let's get on with it!"

"Why wouldn't they? Don't they like the business?" Ira pressed, genuinely curious; It had been the first feeling she had all night that wasn't rage, humiliation, or fear.

"Let's just say…" the doors opened suddenly to the same odd world of offending sculptures and bright lights, immediately filling Ira with dread,

"They'd like us better as dates."

**Alright, I was kind of a meanie with this one... No Alex yet... But there will be in the next chapter, you can bet on that. mmmmwahahahahahahahaha**


	4. Chapter 4

**Hello Hello, just a friendly author's note. I apologize for drifting in and out of this story, but hopefully the updates will become less erratic. Ahem, on to the action!**

Ira blinked at the sudden brightness of the room. Looking around, it appeared that nothing had changed since she had last been there about a year ago.

Neither had its patrons. She tried to avoid eye contact as much as humanly possible, but still managed to see that the general population in the bar was as seedy and unstable as usual, a curious mix of businessmen and ruffians alike. They all tittered and laughed occasionally, but watched the girls with unreadable yet obviously unfriendly stares as they passed.

They didn't have to walk for too long until they happened upon a small table and situated themselves. She shifted uncomfortably for moment, but eased when she noticed that none of their collective attentions were on her. The more softspoken of the two cronies was currently twisting her auburn hair around her finger, staring into space with a half-lidded gaze, while the slightly louder of the two had shot up to fetch the beverages immediately as soon as she realized that no one was coming to serve the table. Ludmilla wore a peculiar expression, as if she was torn between content and anger; her eyes told Ira that she was obviously looking for someone within the bar.

Her attention was ripped away when the abrupt clatter of glasses hitting the table filled her ears. She had a couple of defined experiences with alcohol, but nothing that was constant and or particularly harmful. She braced for the mental effect as she reached, but stopped and blinked when she saw the contents.

"…What is that?" She asked, sounding a bit too dumb for her own liking.

"_That, _Ira, is what you've been missing." Ludmilla replied smoothly, eyes never leaving the glass as she took a sip, "And believe me, you'll probably need it."

She glanced at the other girls, who were already downing their glasses as if it was the last thing they were ever going to drink on this earth. After some great amount of hesitation, she took hold of her own and raised it to her lips. She was reminded once again that this was not a normal night in the least as the rim pressed gently against her mask, and after a long inhale, she took her first sip.

It was just about the strangest thing she had ever drank in her short life. It tasted neither good nor bad; Above all, it tasted… like…

_Milk…Damn, it really is a milkbar. They drink some kind of __**spiked**__ milk here? _She thought, licking her lips unconsciously, _Ah well. Better that it's milk than something that could seriously-_

Just then, a slow, tingling feeling spread through her body. It was as if everything had just been sped up by a fraction of second, yet her mind was empty, spare a niggling little spark of instability. Her mind seemed absolutely unable to slow down. Shit, was this normal? At this rate she wouldn't know her left hand from her right, and such vulnerability around these broads could prove disastrous.

"See, there you go!" The loudmouth encouraged, "Isn't it great? I'll bet it isn't anything _you're _used to."

"That'll do, Francis." Ludmilla slurred, "Give our little Ira some time. Won't do anyone of us any good this nochy if you go on rushing her like a right nazz."

"So Lud, what are we… I mean, _when_ did you agree on?" The auburn haired girl spoke, a faint line of concern visible beyond her mask. She appeared to be the least affected by the strange dairy concoction, as far as Ira could notice.

"I didn't agree on anything. We just need an eye out, I told you." Ludmilla responded gruffly, "There's no cause for your shilarny, or anyone's."

"But what if they-"

"I said there's no cause! We just need to stick it out for the night, understand? If we do that much, we'll know that there's no cause to be like spoogy anymore."

Ira struggled to gather her bearings through the milky fog that had descended on her mind. It had arrived with such vengeance, and yet it felt nothing like a usual fit of drunkenness- it was like a living thing, a cauldron of unknown energy that was fast solidifying into something far more dangerous.

The sound of the dying argument and the sudden screech of chairs against the floor broke her from her trance and caused her to snap her head back up to the table's occupants. However, nobody seemed to be getting up; and prior to the relaxed faces she had seen earlier, there was something slightly more edgy and tense in their eyes.

The looks brought back a rush of memories she would have rather stayed buried, but she had no time to wallow in them as the light thuds of what sounded like work boots came and died very close behind her.

"Welly Welly well, little sisters." A taunting but smooth voice greeted, "Have you been waiting for us all nochy like dobby devotchkas?"

At the strange sound it made, Ira was inclined to turn her head and look, but a higher instinct inside her prevented her from doing so. She instead gazed straight ahead at Ludmilla, who was currently cast in the shadow of the newcomers.

The shadows themselves were curious looking. They were all, spare one that was particularly broad shouldered, relatively the same size, and half wearing _derbies_ no less. If the tension had not been as tight, and if the strangers (to her anyway; she had reason to presume that they had been acquainted with the girls previously) had not been addressing them so directly, Ira may have even chuckled a bit. Then again, this did not seem like a terribly good time to laugh. She feigned a sudden interest in her legs as smoothly as she could manage.

"Not too long." She heard Ludmilla's voice speak cooly, "We're accustomed to having patience for the likes of you lot. In fact, we're quite surprised that you decided to grace us with your presence, Alex."

Although her voice was calm on the exterior, Ira could almost detect a note of something contentious in Ludmilla's words, which were now lacking alarmingly in the nadstat. She could only guess that she was anything but _pleasantly_ surprised.

The abrupt screech of chairs caused Ira to finally look up. She found that the derby wearing oddballs had situated themselves quite strategically around the table, separating each girl by what Ira could recognize as non-coincidental even in her currently drugged state. Although, as abruptly as the reaction had come, it was now barely a hindrance and seemed hardened like a shell. It did not seem any less alive, though. She quietly and hastily surveyed around the table.

The intruders were clad in some kind of white boiler suits, their coal black hats crowning their heads in a way akin to pen caps. Starting from her right , she could see that they were the typical… _shaika_.

She tensed at the word as if someone else, some invisible sensation had forced it into her mind. It remained the only real word other than _horrowshow _she had bothered to pick up in, well, the days when she was a brat.

Of course, being of the typical appearance with vain costumes and slacked jaws with little to say (save the occasional group jeer brought on by some such hoopla), did not make them harmless in the least. She worked rapidly to decipher their motives just so she could at the very least remain a safe step ahead.

As she continued to make her way through each member of the circle, she silently tried assigning roles. The first to her right was a boy of smaller stature and a floppy barrette, his black-rimmed disposition gloomy and pouting like the humored little brother, only more on edge. Going further, near the tempered auburn haired girl, was a slightly taller and gawky looking creature. He wore a maliciously stupid grin on his face, the only discrepancy from the others being the form his hat took, which was a top hat. Between this and the boiler suit, Ira decided that he looked like some perverse imitation of a groom who had taken to the streets in his pajamas. Just between Ludmilla and the girl she now knew as Francis, sat a mammoth of a boy that really looked more like a gorilla than anything else; he didn't look like he could have been the most interesting of company, and though she was sound in this judgment she left room for a polite portion of doubt. She assumed that her assessments were complete until she became acutely aware of the fourth, who had stealthily seated himself to her left. She had only noticed his presence when he laid his hands on the table leisurely, palms facing out expressively.

"'Surprised?' Surprise isn't what we're smotting at, I'm messeling, as it appears your malenky gruppa has gotten one sharp bigger." The voice spoke with the same laziness, although this time laced with a smidge of contempt and knowingness, "But it can't be helped; You are ever the believer in one nochy droogies."

A feeling of uneasiness started to unfurl in Ira's stomach as the table occupants attention evidently shifted towards her, including Ludmilla's, who looked livid in a way similar to a cat in a corner. How could they have picked her out so easily? Was she that noticeable?

She then noticed, with a slow pang of humiliation and embarrassment, that she was the only one of her 'gruppa' who was still wearing a mask. She turned towards the owner of the voice reluctantly and blushed profusely, but not so much that it creeped beyond the mask's edges. To anyone that was not her, it seemed to be a more challenging gesture than the apology of a newly acquired underling.

Through the now painfully apparent fuzzy black edges of the mask, she could see the boy's face staring back at her. At first glance he didn't look much different from the others, but upon closer inspection she was distinctly aware that he was no follower. His straight yet laid back posture, and his expectant smirk coupled with his icy eyes seemed to demand obedience. On pain of what consequences, she wasn't sure if she wanted to know. As they made eye contact, the smirk dimmed ever so slightly, and he seemed to lose interest after giving her some unreadable consideration. He instead directed his attention once more towards Ludmilla.

"A ptitsa you'd bring, as usual." He spoke, as if finishing off an abstract thought, "If I didn't know any better, I'd skazat that you and your droogies were looking to filly with us."

"You know full well what this is, Alex. You can stop with that sarky goloss." Ludmilla snapped, the nadstat creeping back into her vocabularly as her confidence rose, "Is this going to be a bitva or not?"

Oh gosh, so that was it. Ira almost choked, drawn from her trance of watching the gorilla drain the contents of his milk glass like an overgrown baby. She regretted her stupidity as fury and realization washed over her face beneath the mask. How could she have not seen this on the horizon? What was worse, she was feeling increasingly violent by the second for no explainable reason. She felt like a borderline sacrificial lamb, or something close. It wasn't even betrayal, as she didn't trust Ludmilla at all. She pondered her options as she hastily looked about the room in vain for some means of escape.

She finally looked back to Ludmilla, her eyes now visibly subdued and accepting under the mask, but still clearly pissed off. If this 'bitva' was truly going to happen, Ira would certainly not be watching anyone's back or to coming to anyone's rescue other than her own tonight.

**Whoo, first attempt at dialogue for Alex! Hopefully it wasn't too unconvincing, but I didn't want him to come off too ridiculously strong. Stuff's about to go down in the next chappie, and hopefully it'll be a similar length. **


End file.
